


A Bus to Ride

by withdiamonds



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-09
Updated: 2003-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-15 13:33:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withdiamonds/pseuds/withdiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Synecdochic's Queer Shoulder to the Wheel Challenge.  Miscommunication abounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bus to Ride

**March, 2002**

All five of them are backstage after the concert, getting just presentable enough to dash for the buses. The others are carefully not looking at Chris and JC as they all scramble for towels and water bottles. It’s a skill they’ve honed to a fine art recently. “You go on ahead, dude, I’ll be right there,” JC says, not really paying much attention to Chris as he swipes at his hair with a towel.

“JC, you can’t keep the buses waiting. There’s not that much time.” Chris’s voice is tight, and he clears his throat. JC stops drying his hair and cocks his head.

“There’s plenty of time, man. I, um, just need to talk to Matt for a bit.” He pulls a faded t-shirt on over the black tank top they all wear under their costumes. “I’ll be on the bus in just a few. Go on,” he finishes, finally looking closely at Chris. “What?” he says with a puzzled frown.

“Nothing,” Chris says shortly. JC stares, then shakes himself and thrusts his arms into the sleeves of his gray hoodie. Chris turns away to pull a sweatshirt out of his bag.

“Twenty minutes,” he snaps as JC hurries his way out the door.

With an ease born of long practice, Chris deflects Joey’s well-meaning, “Man, hold up,” as he yanks his sweatshirt over his head, grabs his bag and heads out to the waiting buses. He feels Justin’s eyes follow him as he leaves.

*

Nineteen minutes later, JC hops up the bus steps. Chris is sitting unmoving at the table, staring at his reflection in the blank darkness of the window. JC stops when he reaches the table. “Chris?”

“I see you made it,” Chris says, not turning around.

“Well, yeah,” JC says impatiently. He glances around, seeming to notice how quiet the bus is. “Where’s Justin?” He waits, hand at the back of his neck, thrumming with energy, post-show adrenalin apparently not completely worked off yet. Huh. Matt must be losing his touch.

Chris finally looks up at him and JC’s eyes widen at whatever he sees in Chris’s face. “J says we need to talk. He’s on the other bus.” Chris waves a hand vaguely in the direction of the parking lot.

“Talk about what?” JC asks warily. He fidgets with the zipper on his hoodie.

Chris shrugs. “You. Me. Matt. Whatever.”

JC rolls his eyes, and Chris tries to push down the flare of anger it causes. He idly wonders what he ever did to make JC think he was stupid. “Chris, man, don’t.”

“Don’t what, JC?” His voice is aggressive, and JC scowls at him.

“Don’t do that.” JC sits down at the table opposite Chris. He reaches to cover Chris’s hands with his own, but Chris pulls back. “Chris,” JC says with exasperation. “Cut it out.”

Chris shrugs. “I- ” he stops. The anger is gone as quickly as it came. He just feels sad and tired.

“You know what, Matt’s a friend. He came to see us and, um, I wanted to talk to him.” JC speaks quietly, but Chris can hear the impatience thrumming under the surface.

“He’s your ex, JC. Don’t play dumb with me,” Chris says, hating the part of him that needs to have this conversation, the part that wants to believe anything JC tells him.

“Right, man. _Ex_. At the end of the day, that’s the important word, here, Chris.” JC watches Chris for a minute or two more, then says, “J’s on the other bus?” Chris nods. “So, um, we’re alone?” Chris nods again, avoiding JC’s steady gaze. “Okay.” JC slides out of his seat, dropping to his knees on the floor. He reaches for the waistband of Chris’s pants, humming to himself.

“What the hell are you doing?” Chris asks sharply, catching JC’s wrists in his hands.

“If I really have to, you know, _explain_ it to you, dude, we’re in more trouble than I thought.” He gives Chris a full-face grin, waiting for the inevitable, helpless answering smile.

Chris hesitates, searching JC’s face. He’s not ready to lose him yet, he still needs this too much, so he pretends he sees what he wants to in JC’s eyes. He shrugs and says, “Okay.” He doesn’t return the smile though, he doesn’t have that much in him, but he releases his grip on JC. JC watches as Chris’s hands gradually uncurl from tightly clenched fists to relax atop his thighs. JC studies his face, looking up at him through his lashes while he takes Chris in his mouth. When Chris’s breath becomes a harsh rasp and his hands become tight fists again, JC lowers his eyes, smirking around Chris’s cock.

Chris lets himself be taken by JC’s heat, ignoring the voice in his head that tells him not to. He knows he’s being purposefully misdirected, but he can’t resist. He comes helplessly against JC’s tongue, his stomach muscles staining as he curves into himself. It’s so good, and his eyes burn and his throat tightens because it feels like the end.

JC pulls off and sits back on his heels. He looks up at Chris guilelessly, but Chris knows. JC’s smile is wet and deceptive.

*

JC isn’t sure what’s up with Chris. It’s been hard to reach him lately. He’s tempted to ask Justin about it, but there’s a tension there, too, one that he can’t quite figure out. So he doesn’t ask, and Justin frowns when he thinks JC isn’t looking.

Even though Justin stays on the other bus all night, Chris shakes his head when JC scoots over to make room in his bunk. “Back’s a little twingy, C. I need to stretch out.” He hasn’t met JC’s eyes since JC blew him. After, Chris had sighed, closed his eyes and patted the top of JC’s head as if he were a million miles away. Then he’d stood up, stumbling slightly, grabbing JC’s shoulder for a minute, but snatching his hand away when JC tried to hold on to him. He’d spent some time in the tiny bus bathroom, long enough that JC slipped into his bunk to wait for him to come to bed. But Chris squeezed past JC’s hand outstretched in the narrow space between the bunks and crawled into his own.

It takes a long time for the restless noises coming from Chris’s bunk to stop, for Chris to settle down and his breathing to become regular. It gives JC plenty of time to think.

Matt’s a good friend, and JC’s happy to see him when they’re in the same city. It doesn’t happen often, which is probably a good thing, since it seems to make Chris uncomfortable. JC can’t imagine why. He doesn’t begrudge Chris _his_ friends, and Ron’s been visiting the tour often lately. JC has no idea if something sexual is going on with them, although he suspects it might be. Ron seems pretty straight, but JC can’t always tell.

Be that as it may, Matt _isn’t_ straight, and JC is grateful for that. Grateful for the opportunity to have sex that doesn’t make him feel lost and more alone than when he actually is, jerking off in empty hotel beds. Chris won’t spend the whole night in the same room with him anymore, and JC doesn’t know exactly why, he only knows that he’s not surprised. He doesn’t want to ask why, sure that Chris will just look at him and say something about them needing space. It’s not like they have a “relationship,” with all the baggage that entails. Chris made that pretty clear early on, the way he wasn’t ever serious about anything, the way he mocked JC whenever he thought JC was being a girl. They’re just friends, good friends, who love each other a lot but not _that way,_ and their friendship has really good benefits. It feels a little empty sometimes, but JC can deal with that.

He thought if he could take the edge off things with Matt, he wouldn’t need so much from Chris when he got back to the bus. If he needs too much, Chris will decide he’s too much trouble, JC’s sure of that. It doesn’t seem to have worked, though. Chris is cold again, far way from JC. He won’t even sleep with him. JC feels a flicker of irritation at Justin. What does he think he and Chris have to “talk” about? All he’s accomplished by leaving them alone is to make the distance between them more obvious. JC curls up in his bunk, arms wrapped tightly around himself, and waits for sleep to come.

*

 **April 21, 2002**

They’re in DC and Chris hates it. Every gay boy JC knew in middle school still keeps in touch, and therefore DC provides more opportunities for JC to cheat than Chris wants to think about. The tension between them is nearly unbearable at this point, and Chris is almost glad when JC announces that Kacy is picking him up after the concert. Justin scowls, Joey laughs nervously, Lance stares impassively, but Chris is almost glad.

He doesn’t know if he should lock the connecting door to JC’s room or not. He doesn’t want JC showing up at 2 am after a night out doing who knows what with his friends, and if the door is locked, JC won’t push it. Chris knows how JC works by now, or at least he thinks he does, and if Chris’s door is locked, JC will stay in his own room and in the morning he’ll pretend that he didn’t try. And then Chris won’t have to know if JC didn’t make an attempt to come to him.

Chris locks the door. He doesn’t listen for sounds in the next room at all.

They get on the bus early the next morning. It’s a five hour drive from DC to Pittsburgh and they’re scheduled to arrive around noon. The hotel is right across the street from the venue, so that’ll be easy. JC’s pissed, Chris catches on to that right away, and he’s surprised. Usually during these early morning bus rides JC sleeps, and sometimes Chris and Justin do too, depending on what they did the night before. This morning Justin takes one look at JC’s face and goes to his bunk, Discman in hand, headphones firmly in place. Chris and JC are left to glare at each other in the early morning sunlight shining through the bus windows.

JC looks both furious and defeated. Chris waits for him to speak, but he seems to be having problems coming up with something to say. Finally he growls, “What the fuck. You locked me out last night, you fucker.”

“Yeah, I did.” Chris shrugs.

“Asshole,” JC hisses.

“Whatever JC.” Chris feels cold, an icy fist tight around his gut. They’re more angry than they usually allow themselves to be with each other. He thinks he may be scared this time. JC opens his mouth to say something else, but Chris allows his fear to get the better of him and he lashes out. “I’ve had enough, you shit. I don’t want to do this anymore.” He waits, frozen, his words hanging in the air, and he can’t take them back. He doesn’t think he wants to.

JC just stands there, eyes wide with shock and something else Chris can’t identify. “What do you mean?” he whispers.

“I mean, I don’t want to do this anymore. You’re a fucking slut, JC. It’s obviously not enough for you, being just with me. I can’t sit here and wait for you anymore. Just fuck off!” He’s yelling now, and JC takes a step back. Chris ignores the stricken look on his face. All the pain of the past several months is in his voice, he can hear it as he shouts at JC. “I’ve had enough!”

“I don’t know what you mean, Chris.” JC’s tone is pleading, but Chris doesn’t back down, he can’t, he just can’t.

“Bullshit,” he says viciously. JC recoils further, then turns on his heel and stumbles blindly towards his bunk. Chris is breathing hard and his hands are trembling.

*

The bus has crossed half of whatever state they’re currently driving through before Justin deems it safe to leave the relatively secure confines of his bunk. Chris is sprawled on the couch in the lounge, ostensibly watching TV, but Justin knows him well enough that he can tell he’s miles away from what’s on the screen. He’s holding himself tight, staring at a point on the wall above the TV console, hands rubbing repetitively up and down his thighs. Justin takes advantage of Chris’s apparent fascination with the crappy wall-paneling to just watch him for a moment. JC is in his bunk, pretending to nap, but the air still reverberates with the echo of their confrontation. Justin had stayed in the bunk area until he heard the silence that meant JC had retreated to somewhere Chris wasn’t. He knows it was JC who left. Chris never retreats, at least not physically.

Justin hesitates, not sure he wants to get involved in the latest skirmish in the war between the two of them. The way he feels precludes any real objectivity on his part, and he doesn’t want to be angry at JC. JC is his friend, and the only way the intricate balance of love and friendship between the five of them has remained intact as well as it has is for Justin, at least, to distance himself from the details. He’s afraid he’ll end up hating JC otherwise, and he doesn’t want that. JC doesn’t mean to hurt, Justin thinks. Justin really wants to believe that.

Sighing, he sits down next to Chris, bumping him with a friendly shoulder before taking one of Chris’s hands in his and stopping the restless movements for a moment. Chris leans his head against Justin’s shoulder and whispers, “I think I could deal with it better if he’d just stop acting like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.” His voice is small and broken, so not-Chris-like, that Justin has a sudden urge to yank JC out of his bunk and make him fix this. He can’t figure out JC’s problem. Chris loves him, he _has_ Chris, why would someone who has _Chris_ cheat? It seems to be happening more often lately, too, or maybe Justin is just more aware of it now that he’s started paying attention.

“Chris, you know C. It doesn’t mean anything. He loves you the best he can.” Justin’s talking out of his ass, he knows this, JC’s head is a mystery to him at this point.

“It’s not enough. I’m not doing this anymore.” Chris looks up at Justin and the hurt in his eyes is almost more than Justin can look at. The anger that’s always present, simmering just under his skin, threatens to erupt, and he takes a deep breath and turns away from Chris. That’s not going to help anything.

“What are you gonna do?” Justin doesn’t want to ask, afraid the answer will be a shrug and a whispered, “Nothing.” He doesn’t think he could stand that.

Instead, Chris shrugs and whispers, “I told him to go fuck himself,” and Justin blinks. Chris’s voice gets stronger with his next words. “He can fuck himself and anyone else he wants to. I don’t care anymore.” A shudder runs through Chris’s body at his own words, and Justin tightens his grip, holds him steady. He drops a kiss on the top of Chris’s head, hair soft under Justin’s lips. “Okay,” he whispers back. He breathes in Chris’s scent with a sense of guilty trespass; he knows he doesn’t really have the right to do that, at least not in the way he’s doing it. For what’s probably the hundredth time in the past year, he wishes things were different.

*

They’re in the hotel in Pittsburgh, and Chris gets out of the shower to find JC waiting in his room. He looks uncertain of his welcome, and Chris thinks, good, he should be. He’s still angry, almost consumed by it, and it’s like he’s been storing it up for just this moment.

“What are you doing in here?” He stands with the towel around his waist, arms folded across his chest. He hopes he looks aggressive, but thinks maybe he just looks defensive. JC doesn’t answer him right away, and Chris crosses to his suitcase and takes out a pair of clean underwear. He hesitates, then thinks, fuck it, and drops his towel. He hears JC catch his breath, and Chris is glad, he wants JC to see him. Then he just feels stupid, because if JC _saw_ him, he wouldn’t be the way he is. JC’s gaze is hot on his naked skin, though, and he quickly pulls his boxers on. He still feels vulnerable and he reaches for his jeans, resisting the impulse to hold them protectively in front of himself.

“Chris, can’t we…c’mon, man, don’t do this.” JC looks at him hungrily, and that just fuels Chris’s rage. “It’s enough,” he whispers. “ _You’re enough._ ”

“No. We’re done, JC.” He goes back into the bathroom and slams the door.

When he finally comes out, JC is gone.

*

Justin knows by JC’s cold silence that Chris did it. He looks for signs of pain or regret in the icy shards of JC’s fury, but if there’s anything there, JC keeps it well-hidden and Justin can’t see it. Lance and Joey give all three of them a wide berth, like they think Justin’s a part of it too, and he guesses in a way he is. The three-man bus will be unbearable, though, and Justin is more than relieved when Joey drags him to his and Lance’s bus for the drive to Columbus. He feels bad deserting Chris, but he’s too weak to say no to the peace Joey’s offering. Chris had been almost manic onstage in Pittsburgh, his usual antics multiplied tenfold. Joey, caretaker for them all, had watched out for JC while Chris was going on and on about his uncle, and hockey, and Mario Lemieux and all the rest of it. By the time this tour is over, Justin is going to feel more revulsion for _I Want You Back_ than he had started out with, which is considerable. He had just wanted Chris to shut up so they could get on with the song, and judging by the expressions on the other guys’ faces, he wasn’t alone.

This tour has been a misbegotten idea from the word go, in Justin’s opinion. He loves the stripped-down feeling of it all, the new musical arrangements and the Thank-God-it’s-something-different choreography of the older songs, but Jesus, the emotional turmoil more than makes up for it. Between him and Brit, and Chris and JC, it’s the tour of trashed relationships. He thinks Joey’s smart to keep Kelly as far away as he can manage without pissing her off, and Freddy’s smart enough to keep himself away. Busta’s death was just the icing on the cake, as far as Justin is concerned. Not even his relief at Chris finally finding his balls with both hands is enough to temper his eagerness for this to be over. Justin had thought that if JC and Chris broke up, he would be free to move in and claim what he’d always wanted, but he finds himself unable to do it. Chris isn’t ready, and Justin is half ashamed to admit that he doesn’t want to be distracted from what he wants to do next. His eagerness to be in the studio by himself is stronger than he had anticipated, and he feels a mixture of guilt and excitement whenever he thinks about it.

Onstage, JC had been glaring at Chris behind Joey’s back when they finally got to the part where JC sings the final note of _I Want You Back._ He had run his towel over his head to give himself time to regain his composure, then belted it out, sweet and clear and powerful.

Four more times, Justin thinks, and then it’s over.

*

 **April 28, 2002**

“Jesus, Joe, go out there and get him the fuck off the stage.” Chris doesn’t want to watch anymore, he just wants to get the hell out of there and go home, or at least to the after-party.

The look Joey throws him speaks volumes, but he goes back out on the stage to try and persuade JC to finally leave the spotlight. Chris knows exactly why JC is still out there, all teary-eyed and bonding with the costume girls, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let it continue, just because he gets it. The fact that sending Joey to do his dirty work for him isn’t exactly fair doesn’t faze him in the least. Fuck fair. He needs for this to be over with now. JC’s penchant for prolonging the agony has reached new heights and become too much for Chris to deal with, and thank God for Joey.

They eventually make their way backstage, JC leaning on Joey, Joey’s arm tight around his waist. There are tears on JC’s face, but he is actually fairly composed, looking more tired than upset. He avoids looking at Chris as he strips out of his costume. The wardrobe girls collect the discarded clothing for one last run through the laundry. Chris doesn’t think he wants to claim any of the tour clothes later for his personal use. Now that everything is over, he’d rather not have a lot of reminders hanging around his house. He thinks that might include people, too, at least for a while.

Chris manages to get through the entire after-party without once making eye contact with JC. Lance and Justin stay until the bitter end, although it’s obvious both their minds are already elsewhere, like Russia and Virginia. Joey sticks close to JC throughout, which Chris appreciates. The last thing he needs is a big, emotional scene on what Chris is afraid is their last night together as a group, even if no one is admitting it. They still have to record a track for Disney, but they can sing their parts separately, and Chris plans on avoiding them all that day.

Joey watches JC, Bev watches Chris. Chris thinks that’s pretty unnecessary, but, hey, that’s his mom. He isn’t sure what she expects, maybe for him to get drunk and fall to his knees at JC’s feet. That’s not going to happen, and as long as he stays away from both the tequila and JC, he’s good.

The inevitable moment when it’s just the five of them, when their friends and family leave them alone to say goodbye, comes both sooner and later than Chris would have liked.

He holds Lance close and whispers in his ear, “You’ll be great, Bass. Bring me back some vodka.” Lance nods wordlessly into his shoulder and Chris could swear he sniffs once or twice. Chris grins and smacks a big kiss on his cheek. Lance snorts and wipes it off as he pulls back.

“Ass,” he says fondly, and he waits for Justin to say goodbye to Chris.

Justin doesn’t really have much to say as he pulls Chris into an embrace. It’s too big to talk about, the possibilities of endings and beginnings, both professionally and personally. Chris will come annoy Justin while he’s recording in Virginia, and they’ll talk smack on the golf course, and Justin will never make Chris feel like he’s relieved to be on his own, even though Chris knows he is. Justin loves him, and they won’t talk about it. Chris watches as Justin and Lance leave together, and his chest feels constricted for a moment.

Joey hugs him the longest, whispering reassurance into his ear. “It’ll be okay, Chris. Give it time.”

Chris shakes his head in denial, but holds on tight just the same, taking the comfort Joey is offering. “That’s all we got now, Joe. Time.” Joey still thinks things could work out, and Chris isn’t up to convincing him otherwise tonight. Joey just wants them all to be happy.

Chris and JC don’t hug at all.

*

JC gets through the last show, and the after-party, buoyed by the same blend of unreality and rage that’s been sustaining him since Pittsburgh. It isn’t over, he thinks, it can’t be. Chris will come to him and say he’s sorry, he didn’t mean it, he was just pissed, he loves him, can they please try again. Except Chris doesn’t love him, JC remembers.

JC thought if he kept things low key, didn’t demand anything more than sex and friendship from Chris, it would be okay. He’d tried to be a distraction from the drudgery of touring, from the nameless, faceless strangers that they’ve all grown so weary of. He thought it was what Chris wanted. Maybe he’s really fucked things up, maybe it wasn’t what Chris wanted at all.

That makes him mad all over again.

He clings to Joey at the end, burying his face in his neck as Joey whispers soft words of comfort in his ear. He’s lost, and he doesn’t know what to do.

*

 **June 20, 2002**

FuMan is going down the shitter and Chris is stuck doing this inane Fox Summer Music Mayhem, or whatever the fuck it’s called, with JC. He has the uneasy feeling that Jennifer Love Hewitt is somehow involved, and he can’t figure out when his life got so lame. For some reason, he thought that being on hiatus meant being safe from the bullshit for a while.

He hasn’t talked to JC since the night of their last concert. Rehearsals for this music thing have been awkward, silence heavy in the air, while the director stalks around, looking puzzled and aggrieved by turns. He obviously calls Johnny, because somehow they find themselves on a conference call, the three of them tiptoeing around the real problem while Johnny tries to explain that they have to at least _try_. They’re both professional enough that they do, and the director is happy after that, and stops glaring at them. It’s actually amusing, in a twisted way, and before long Chris finds himself making JC giggle with his impressions of the director tossing his clipboard down, glaring in disgust at the two of them.

By the time they tape the show, things are to the point that he can breathe without his chest hurting when JC looks at him.

*

 **July, 2002**

Challenge sucks without Lance. Chris hopes Lance freezes his nuts off in Russia. He hopes a bear eats him in the forest. He hopes he doesn’t get laid the whole time he’s there, that Freddy has crabs. He hopes that Lance is having the time of his life, and that he gets to go to space. Mostly, he hopes Lance comes back.

Without Lance there, Joey needs someone to goof off with, and they’re on the same team, so he picks Chris. That leaves Justin and JC to hang out together, and they seem to get along fine. Chris remembers Justin’s anger on his behalf, and he’s glad he and JC seem to have come to terms with each other again. It’s an old friendship and Chris doesn’t want to see it ruined by romance gone bad. He catches JC watching him more than once, a look in his eyes Chris can’t decipher at all. His mood vacillates between sad, furious, and relieved, and he knows his behavior reflects that. He’s funny, aggressive, and silly in turn, and when he has the mic in his hand he can’t resist the occasional verbal dig at JC’s lack of skills on the court. Joey smiles reassuringly at him, so Chris knows he hasn’t gone too far. The Lance-shaped empty space in the weekend seems to make them all a little more careful with each other, and Chris goes home feeling lighter in heart than when he got there.

*

Justin has about a million pairs of sneakers. Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but Chris is sure the actual number is pretty high. Chris gets it, he really does, they all have their indulgences, and this one is pretty harmless as far as indulgences go. Hey, it’s not crack whores or Beanie Babies. And at least Justin doesn’t have as many cars as he does shoes. Not yet, anyway. Chris would like to think it’s because Justin appreciates variety and the thrill of new shoes rather than a need to have things be pristine and untouched, but he knows Justin too well. There are so many things he can’t control, so what Justin can control, he does. And he can control how clean and new and shiny his shoes are, so Chris can’t fault him for that, really. Plus, it’s a good source of material to use for Justin-mocking, which he feels Justin needs on a daily basis.

Unfortunately, Chris no longer sees Justin on a daily basis. And that’s fine, that’s why God made cell phones, so Chris can call and mock anytime he wants. Pretty much. Sometimes Justin is busy, sometimes it’s not a good time to call, he can’t talk, or listen to Chris, he has other things to do, other places to be. Places where Chris isn’t. And, hey, that’s fine, too, Chris can deal with that. It’s not like they need to be attached at the hip anymore, they’re all growing and changing and doing things on their own, and that’s as it should be. Chris is fine with that, really he is.

*

He doesn’t think about JC at all.

*

 **August 28, 2002**

Chris doesn’t go to New York to see _Rent_ with the other guys. He’ll get there eventually, Joey knows that. He knows when the others are going, and he wants to wait until they’ve already gone before it’s his turn. He _wants_ to sit in the theater with Justin, watching Joey with amazement, laughing at him, but he doesn’t want to risk being there with JC. He’s better, but not that much. He’ll bide his time, then go to Joe when he can.

*

 **November 1, 2002**

At the release party for _Justified,_ Chris watches Justin with pride and awe. He tries to conceal it, using humor and his remarkable talent for being obnoxious to keep Justin from knowing how he feels. Except that Justin knows anyway, of course, because they haven’t really been apart long enough to be able to hide from one another like that. Which is one of the many reasons Chris wishes JC wasn’t also at the party, because what he wants more than almost anything is to continue to hide from JC. But whatever else JC may be, he’s supportive of all of their efforts to make an impact beyond the group, so of course he’s there. They smile at each other for the cameras, and Chris watches what he drinks. He thinks it will be a long time before he lets himself drink around JC. Alcohol makes it too hard to cover up what’s going on in his head.

Chris is getting restless vibes from JC, and he knows it won’t be long before JC’s energies are focused on his own efforts to create something outside of the group, something that belongs only to him.

Over the endless loop of songs chronicling Justin’s and Britney’s tragic love affair, Chris shouts insults into Justin’s ear. Justin brays appreciatively, and Chris clings to the feeling that he’s still a part of whatever Justin is doing. He knows that feeling won’t last much longer. It’s almost liberating, the concept of being separate, and it makes him reckless. He decides a drink or two won’t hurt anything, and maybe he deserves to feel a little numb, to be a little less careful about things.

JC approaches him cautiously, expression guarded, and Chris can’t interpret what’s in his eyes at all. That pisses him off. What right does JC have to hide from him? He has no right at all, Chris thinks angrily. He bares his teeth in something that bears no resemblance to a smile and says, “So, C, any solo attempts in _your_ future? You think you can top J?” JC and Justin like to pretend they’re not competitive, and Chris knows well the unwritten rule regarding actually saying something like that out loud. Chris has no trouble reading the expression in JC’s eyes now, and he feels a flicker of triumph.

“Fuck you, asshole,” JC snarls. Chris hears a trace of hurt surprise under the anger in JC’s voice, and thinks maybe the tequila is making him imagine things. “Fuck off.” JC turns abruptly and heads the other way, back to the bar.

Chris’s righteous anger deflates, leaving him feeling defeated and stupid. He finds Justin so he can say goodnight.

*

 **November 18, 2002**

By the time Chris hears about Justin’s foot, J’s already home in Tennessee, recuperating. Chris shows up, takes one look at Justin’s face, and decides that however much Justin may be obsessing about the promo chores he’s missing, he needs the break. A mini-vacation, courtesy of Justin’s compulsive need to rehearse everything to death. Chris doesn’t know for sure, but he’s willing to bet Justin broke his foot practicing the same dance moves for the bajillionth time in a row. “C’mon, Marty, again, one more time, man.” Chris can hear him saying it, and his breath catches at the abrupt realization of how much he misses the guys, the group, and especially Justin, neuroses and all.

Chris kicks everyone out of the house for the afternoon the second day he’s there. “C’mon, kiddo, I’ll whup your ass for you,” Chris says, heading for the Playstation. Justin needs an afternoon away from his grandma fussing over his foot and his mother fussing over his revised schedule. Trace needs a break from Justin, and Chris winks at him as Trace heads off to spend the afternoon with his own mom. Trace flips him off gratefully on his way out the door.

It doesn’t take them long to find their old rhythm again, and for an instant Chris is back on the bus, blinds closed against the afternoon sun to prevent the TV screen from glaring at them. He closes his eyes against the sharp ache of loss he feels at not having this everyday anymore. It not like he didn’t know it was there, but the pain feels fresh. Then he remembers that he and Justin weren’t the only ones on the bus, and suddenly he’s frightened that maybe it’s not Justin that he’s missing most of all. He opens his eyes to find Justin watching him with a sad, knowing smile on his face. Chris places his controller carefully on the couch, leaving his hand motionless between them. He’s not sure, but he thinks maybe it’s an invitation. If it is, it’s one that Justin accepts.

*

“I’m sorry,” Chris says in a small voice and he doesn’t look at Justin, spread out and naked beside him, acres of pale skin glowing in the afternoon sunlight. Justin had moved under him gracefully, urgently, and by the way Justin whispered his name when he came, Chris knew it was a mistake.

“I’m not,” Justin answers. He shifts on the couch, propping his foot up on a throw pillow. He tilts his head up from Chris’s lap, trying to see his face. “Timing sucks, man, that’s all.”

“I guess.” Chris still doesn’t look down.

“Maybe we should have tried this years ago. Before…” he trails off. Before JC, Chris thinks. Maybe they should have. It doesn’t matter, it’s too late now. He runs his hand over Justin’s chest, holds his hand over Justin’s heart, feeling it beat, strong and steady and true, like Justin’s friendship. He would be lost without that and he doesn’t know why he didn’t remember that sooner. It doesn’t matter that Justin wants more, Chris can’t give it to him, and it makes him angry at JC that he can’t.

Justin shifts again, nuzzling his face against Chris’s opened jeans, bunched down around his thighs. “Ouch.” Chris finally looks down and there’s compassion in Justin’s eyes. “Zipper, dude.” There’s a small red scratch on Justin’s cheek and Chris smiles. Justin grins back at him, and Chris knows they’ll be okay.

Justin stretches and sits up. “I’d better get cleaned up before Mom and Grandma get back. Mom could handle it, but Miss Sadie…” He laughs and stands up, planting a kiss on Chris’s forehead. He picks up his clothes and the used condom and hobbles out of the room.

Chris is still sitting there when he hears a car pull up the driveway, and he has to scramble to get his pants back on.

*

 **December 11, 2002**

Joey is keeping JC’s attention, making him laugh uncontrollably by licking Wax JC’s face. Chris smiles at the sound, then resumes picking his own wax figure’s nose for the cameras. He has to admit, this whole thing has been fun. It’s good to see Lance again, who’s looking less haunted than he did when he first came home from Russia. That was just one more thing for Chris to be pissed about, and he’s tired of being angry. Justin won’t allow him to be angry about what happened in Tennessee, especially since that particular ire was directed at himself, and Chris is more grateful for that than he can say.

Joey bounds over, grabbing him around the neck and shmooshing Chris’s face into his broad shoulder. His voice is warm in Chris’s ear as he says, “Hey, asshole, how you doing?”

Chris shoves against him, with no discernable results. “Let go, you fucker,” he whines, fighting the temptation to just let Joe keep him there indefinitely. Surrounded by Justin’s grating laughter, JC’s giggles and Lance’s low rumble, Chris feels something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He thinks it’s contentment.

*

 **February 23, 2003**

 

It almost feels normal, singing together, rehearsing, pre-Grammy jitters, the whole thing so familiar that Chris wonders if the past year really happened. Maybe the hiatus is just a figment of his imagination, a fantasy fueled by too much tequila, too much pot, too much pain. Then JC looks at him, tentative and careful, and Chris knows it’s real.

He and JC wind up talking, the conversation stilted and disjointed at first, at one of the after-parties. Too many important conversations in his life have taken place at after-parties, Chris thinks. It isn’t normal.

After awhile, though, they relax and the conversation is good. Chris gets the feeling he’s not the only one who’s unhappy with the way things are between them. JC is about to go into the studio, and he can’t contain his excitement. Chris is happy for him, tells him that whatever he comes up with, he knows it’ll kick ass. JC glows at Chris’s praise, and says maybe he’ll send some demos Chris’s way when he gets a few tracks laid down.

Chris tells him he’d like that, and when they say goodbye, there’s something in JC’s eyes that Chris recognizes as hope.

*

 **July, 19, 2003**

Chris watches Lynn take Justin’s shoes, bang them against each other a couple more times, trying to get all the sand out, and put them down at her feet. She shares a look with Trace, one that clearly says, what a dork. A quick flash of anger makes Chris clench his jaw tightly. He sees Justin, pale and thin, laughing at something Lance is saying. His shoulders carry a tiredness that Chris thinks has been there so long that Justin is hardly aware of it anymore. The exhaustion in his eyes belies his smile. That’s why none of them begrudge Justin Cameron’s presence here this weekend, if only because they hope it will relieve some of the obvious stress Justin is under.

When the skills competition finishes, and everyone is milling around in the big tent, Chris approaches Lynn. She’s deep in conversation with Paul, while Trace goofs around nearby with Elisha.

Paul catches sight of Chris and waves. They hug, and Chris turns to Lynn. The wary look in her eye is almost disguised by her smile. He knows she’s aware of Justin’s exhaustion, of the non-stop pace at which they’ve been living Justin’s life. There are things Lynn can control, but there are also things she can’t fix, and Chris recognizes that he’s one of those things. He wonders how much Justin told her about what happened when he broke his foot. Probably everything, if Chris knows Justin. Chris wants to tell her that it’s alright, Justin is fine with the way things are. He looks over at Trace, who’s whispering in Elisha’s ear, making her giggle. That silly fucker probably knows everything, too. Chris sighs. Well, it’s not like any of them have ever had many secrets from each other.

He pulls Lynn into a hug and whispers in her ear, “I’m sorry.” She relaxes a little and gives him a squeeze before moving back and looking questioningly into his eyes.

“Are you okay, honey?”

Chris shrugs. “I’m getting there.” At that moment, Taylor bounces into him, grabbing him around the waist.

“C’mon, Chris, you promised to introduce me to Joel and Benji.”

Chris smiles ruefully at Lynn. “Gotta go.”

She kisses him on the cheek. “See you later, sweetie.”

There doesn’t seem to be enough time. The weekend flies by and Justin doesn’t make himself particularly available to Chris. He and Cameron are busy being a twosome, only showing a cursory interest in the scheduled events beyond the basketball game and the skills competition. It’s okay, Chris understands Justin’s need to distance himself right now, from a lot of things. The critical acclaim that’s eluded them for their whole freakin’ career finally seems like it’s within Justin’s grasp, so Chris really can’t blame him for acting like he’s a guest at his own charity event. He just wishes Justin didn’t look like he should be tucked into bed with a bowl of chicken soup instead of sweating like a pig in the Florida sun, playing tug-of-war in applesauce.

He realizes Justin is no longer his problem to solve, he seems to have relinquished that right, and if he really wants someone to worry about, JC is right there in front of him, fried to a crisp, like he’s never seen the Florida sun before and has no idea what it’s capable of doing to an unprotected back. Fried to a crisp and worried about his album. Well, not worried, exactly, he’s actually being very Zen about the whole thing, but Chris didn’t spend a year sleeping with him for nothing. He knows JC, and JC is preoccupied.

It starts as a way to distract himself from Justin. With Lance and Joey engaged in guerrilla warfare, trying to outdo each other’s practical jokes, Chris is pretty much left to his own devices during their rare downtime. So he watches JC, who is not oblivious to Chris’s scrutiny, if the nervous glances being sent his way are any indication.

Making a mental note to kick himself later, Chris is actually playful with JC before the Skills Competition. In return, JC lets him touch his sunburned back without retaliation, suffering Chris’s attempts to be his arms with a laugh that sounds almost contented. When JC leaves early, pleading impending heatstroke, Chris is so aware of his absence he nearly forgets to mock Lance with a wolf-whistle the first time he takes his shirt off. Apparently, he and JC are still hard-wired together. Maybe some fates are just inescapable, Chris concedes, suddenly terrified.

At the party that night, there are too many fans around, not to mention parents, for them to engage in anything more than their usual public interaction. Chris watches his mom and Karen pretend not to pay any attention to them, and if he wasn’t so busy fighting off an impending nervous breakdown, he’d think it was funny.

Sunday, the game passes by in the usual blur of faces and sounds and motion and laughter. There are a few stand-out moments, like someone bringing JC a plate of fruit. Watching JC eating a banana is one of the highlights of the game for Chris, and, he suspects, for a whole lot of other folks, too.

The party Sunday night is kind of lame, and Chris finds himself looking around for someone to leave with him so he won’t be the only one making an early exit. He knows Lance and Joey will give him a hard time if they see him sneaking out, like they don’t do enough partying for all five of them put together, in Chris’s opinion. He isn’t self-deluded enough to deny that he’s looking for someone in particular, and when he spies JC looking a little lost at the bar, he surrenders to the inevitable and heads on over.

“C.” He stands next to JC with his elbows on the bar, surveying the room.

“Chris.” JC fiddles with his drink, staring down at the ice in his almost empty glass.

They seem to have reached an impasse. Neither of them speaks for the next five minutes, then they both go for it at the same time.

“What are you-” Chris starts.

“Do you want to-” JC stops. He motions for Chris to go ahead, but Chris isn’t stupid. He’s not saying a word until JC does. He shakes his head and they stare at each other until Chris gives up and looks away. Something about the intensity of JC’s gaze makes it difficult not to.

“Can we please get out of here?” JC asks.

Chris nods shortly. “Okay. Find Lonnie.”

*

The ride up the elevator is tense, silent. They go to JC’s hotel, because there are still a lot of fans at the Eden Roc and Chris isn’t in the mood. Lonnie walks them to JC’s room, then says good night with a thoughtful glance between them and an encouraging smile in JC’s direction. So, Lonnie knows. Chris wonders what he thinks, what he’d say if any of them ever asked.

The door closes behind them and even as JC reaches for the light switch, he says to Chris, “Did you love me?”

Chris can’t figure out what the question means, what JC means by asking it. “What the hell kind of question is that?” He stands in the middle of the chaos that is JC’s room after five days here, and doesn’t know what to say.

“Did you love me?” JC’s voice is insistent, as if the answer is more than just a simple yes or no, and clearly there’s a lot riding on Chris getting it right.

*

Chris stands there staring at him for about a million years. There’s a stricken look in his eyes and JC wants to pull the words back in, but he can’t. He turns away, thinking, this is what it’s like to die. Now I know.

“What the fuck are you talking about, JC?” Chris’s voice is harsh and JC flinches under it. “What the hell kind of a question is that?”

“ _Okay,_ I get it, I just wanted- you know what, nevermind, I’m sorry.” He wants to leave, but he can’t, it’s his room. He brought Chris up here to talk, maybe more, he had hoped for more, but that’s obviously not going to happen. Chris is mad, JC knew he would be, that’s why he never said anything before, it was better not to say anything.

“Of course I loved you! JC, what the hell kind of a game are you playing at?” Chris sounds furious, and JC’s stomach twists. Just let me get through this without making a fool of myself, he thinks, although it’s possibly too late for that. Then he replays Chris’s words back in his head. “Of course?” What does he mean, _of course?_

“Wait- I thought- you did?” JC turns back and Chris is looking at him like he thinks JC has finally lost his mind. “Chris?”

“I still do, you asshole, in spite of the fact that you are obviously a moron.” He still sounds mad, but the glare of death leveled at JC may be softening into just a scowl of annoyance. He shakes his head. “I don’t believe you, C. Do you mean to tell me, all that time, you thought- goddamnit, all that time.” He sits down on the end of the bed and puts his head in his hands. “What did you think we were doing, C? For the love of Christ, what did you think I was there for?” His words are muffled, far away, and JC feels awful.

“I’m sorry. Um, I didn’t want to ask too much. I thought you, you know, you wouldn’t like it.” JC’s voice is small and he doesn’t even know if Chris can hear him. He takes a deep breath. Okay, it got all fucked up, but maybe he’s smarter now. Maybe he knows better. He sits down on the bed next to Chris and touches the back of his neck. Chris holds himself still for a moment, then straightens up and tilts his head back into JC’s hand. JC almost topples off the bed in relief. He closes his eyes and breathes, “Thank you.”

They go slow, and although JC thought maybe they’d have to relearn each other, they don’t seem to have forgotten anything at all. Chris still knows how to take him apart, inch by inch, until JC’s frantic under him, shaking with how much he wants it. What’s different now is that they look at each other, and Chris smiles into JC’s eyes as he comes.

*

Justin has to leave early Monday morning to get back to things, so Chris doesn’t get the chance to say goodbye. No matter, he’s planning on hanging out with J for a bit next month, maybe do the Texas leg of his tour. Lance and Joey know something’s up about five minutes into breakfast. Lance smiles and Joey hugs Chris so tightly Chris literally can’t breath for a second. “Get off me, you freak,” he growls as he shoves ineffectually at Joey’s chest. Joey kisses him loudly on the forehead and turns to JC.

“Okay, C?” he asks, looking searchingly at JC’s face. JC’s grin is all the answer he seems to need, as Lance pulls him back down to the table to finish breakfast.

*

 **August 1, 2003**

 

Chris steps onto the bus in Dallas and stops in the aisle, looking around. It feels achingly familiar and weirdly different at the same time. It’s good to be on a bus again, it’s a little like coming home. Except this bus is fucking luxurious, like a rolling hotel suite, and a fancy one at that. Plus, Trace is sitting at the small table and there are telltale indications of a feminine presence in the small items scattered around the lounge area. Cameron’s sunglasses are on the table by Trace’s elbows, and there’s a pink jacket on the couch and flip flops on the floor. Actually, that part isn’t so different than when he and Justin and JC shared a bus. He snickers at the thought, surprised to realize that it doesn’t hurt. He explores the thought again, prodding at it like a sore tooth with his tongue, but, no, no pain anymore.

Trace looks up and smiles. “Hey, dude. Long time no see. How’s it hanging?”

Chris rolls his eyes. Fucking Trace. “To the left, man. Where’s J?”

Trace jerks his thumb towards the back of the bus. “Taking a piss. Have a seat.”

Justin comes out of the bathroom just as Chris sits down at the table with Trace, and he has to get back up again so he can be enveloped in a crushing hug. “Shit, man. How the fuck are you?” Justin studies his face and Chris lets him. He smiles and says, “You look good, dude.”

“Dork,” Chris replies fondly.

“Dickhead,” Justin counters, and Trace snickers.

It turns out Cameron’s not here, she flew back to LA for some pre-production meeting for her next movie, and Trace decides to go to bed early, so Justin and Chris have plenty of time after the concert to catch up. Chris didn’t know Trace had it in him to be so tactful. They sit on the couch in the lounge, talking as the bus travels through the Texas night.

Justin smiles. “I’m glad you’re here, man. It’s good to see you.” He tilts his head to the side. “You’re different.”

“Different how?” Chris counters.

“Your eyes. They’re, I don’t know, different, you know?” Justin grins.

“Whatever, J. So, tell me, what’s new? How’s Cam?” They stay up late talking, it’s been so long since they’ve had this much time. Keeping up by phone isn’t quite the same, and soon Chris’s sides ache from laughing. He can tell when Justin starts to run out of steam, and he grabs the bull by the horns and says quietly, “You left Miami early, man.”

“What? No, I didn’t.” He sounds defensive and Chris is quick to reassure him.

“No, I just meant you left before JC and I did.” He doesn’t say anything else, waits to see if Justin gets it.

“You and JC? You mean…what _do_ you mean?” He sounds guarded.

“We, um, we decided to try again.” Chris waits, not sure if he’ll hear “Congratulation, man,” or “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Justin stares at him. Then he says, “That’s what different.” He looks serious, doesn’t smile at all when he adds, “I’m not gonna insult you by asking you if you know what the fuck you’re doing, man.”

“You mean like you just did?” Chris asks, but he fights back a smile. He shrugs. “I don’t know, I think it’s not like the last time.” He lets out a snort. “We actually talked about some things.”

“Whoa. That _is_ different.” Justin seems to want to ask, but he folds his lips together and doesn’t say anything more.

What the hell, he deserves to know. That’s why Chris is here in the first place, because Justin deserves to know. “He thought- well, he didn’t know, I mean, he didn’t think I, you know, loved him.” Chris is actually embarrassed about this part. He still doesn’t know what kind of boyfriend he was if JC thought they were just alleviating boredom together.

Justin stares at him like he’s crazy. “What the fuck did he think you were doing with him, if he didn’t think you loved him? Why did he think you hung around all that time?”

“He thought it was a tour thing, a convenient fuck-buddy thing.” Justin starts to sputter and Chris hurries into speech again. “No, J, it’s okay. It’s all okay now. We’re good.”

“Fucking Chasez.” Justin shakes his head. “Shit, I know that sometimes C has his head, you know, up his ass, but I had no idea how far up it could go.” He glances sideways at Chris. “You know I’m here if anything…” He stops speaking and looks away.

Chris feels a rush of guilt. “No, J, not this time.” He waits until Justin looks back at him and says, “I promise.”

*

JC’s bus isn’t anything like Justin’s. There are more people on it, for one thing. It’s purple, for another. Chris dodges a dancer, he thinks her name is Gina, and spins around in the tiny kitchen, only to bump into Carlos making coffee. “Sorry, man,” and Carlos smiles at him kindly. Chris likes Carlos, only partly because he’s actually shorter than Chris. He hasn’t minded Chris being here with JC at all, thinks it a good idea for Chris to have joined them for a few days.

They’re in New York, and there’s only a few more dates on this part of the tour. JC’s still being Zen about the album delays, but it’s kind of an angry Zen that Chris doesn’t think he’s seen before. It adds energy to the shows, that’s for sure, and it maybe adds energy to everything JC does. It’s actually pretty hot.

After the show, they go to a club, and they manage a miracle in New York and aren’t spotted. When they come back to the bus, it’s quiet, almost everyone is staying in a hotel, since they’re not leaving for Boston until tomorrow morning. But Chris wants to spend the night alone on the bus, and JC laughs and says yes.

They fuck in JC’s bed in the back, and Chris feels like he’s home.


End file.
